Poetry Archives

A continuing selection of classic and contemporary poems.

Emily Dickinson

1773

The Summer that we did not prize,
Her treasures were so easy
Instructs us by departing now
And recognition lazy—

Bestirs itself—puts on its Coat,
And scans with fatal promptness
For Trains that moment out of sight,
Unconscious of his smartness.

Online text © 1998-2008 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson | Written c. 1983

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